


After the longest day

by cyren2132



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Loss of Parents, Trick or Treat 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-25 04:41:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12523208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyren2132/pseuds/cyren2132
Summary: Out of tragedy, a new brotherhood is born.





	After the longest day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angelsunknown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsunknown/gifts).



“It’s not right, Alfred.”

“No, Master Bruce, it isn’t.” Alfred laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder and tried not to think of the days when doing so required a near straightening of the arm rather than a deep bend of the elbow.  They both stared through the blinded window of a hospital lounge at a small boy sitting amid a smattering of toy cars  and blocks liberated from the pediatrics unit. The boy ignored them. Instead he sat against the wall clutching a small stuffed bird, absently stroking a finger down its beak.

There was nothing physically wrong with him, but Bruce and Alfred both knew he’d probably carry mental scars for the rest of his life. They all would.

The circus had come back to Gotham, and it was with a grim determination to face his fears that Bruce had decided to attend. It started fine. Lions and elephants and daredevils wowed the cheering crowd, but it was the Flying Graysons that left them all in a state of stunned awe as they flew through the air with grace and beauty.

Bruce noticed the problem first.

“Alfred!” he’d hissed while hitting his arm with one hand and pointing up at the scaffolding with another. It had taken Alfred’s eyes a moment to adjust away from the spotlight, but soon he saw a flash of white grease paint as a clown bopped around the scaffolding, pulling pins and bobs as he went. 

The far section of the scaffolding began to shake. Bruce and Alfred shouted warnings, but their cries were lost in the gasps of the crowd as Mary Grayson did three somersaults in the air and twisted her body before grasping her husband’s arms. Bruce and Alfred nodded at each other before going the separate ways trying to find help.

The net dropped as the ringmaster called for the grand finale before Alfred could get to anyone who would listen. Bruce donned a pair of gloves, climbed a ladder and tracked the clown -- one of Jerome Valeska’s followers -- along the catwalk, replacing what he could as he went. But it wasn’t enough. 

The rig came crashing down. The only Grayson to survive was little Dickie, huddled in the arms of the ringmaster’s assistant.

And now they were here. 

“He should stay with us,” Bruce said.

“What? Master Bruce, have you lost your bleeding mind? He can’t stay with us.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one, there are protocols. Social workers and foster families--”

“Strangers.”

“Well, what do you think we are?”

“We’re different. We know…” Bruce trailed off, and Alfred didn’t know better, he would have sworn the boy was barely holding back tears.

“What’s this all about, mate?” Alfred asked softly. Bruce looked down at his shoes, swallowed once and coughed.

“After my parents,” he began, “I at least still had someone to come home to. He doesn’t have anyone.”

“Doesn’t have anyone? He’s got the whole bloody circus.”

“The same circus that housed a pyschotic murderer for years,” Bruce said glumly as he picked at a piece of nonexistent lint at his sleeve. “And besides that…” he trailed off. Alfred summoned all his will to stay silent while Bruce spoke on his own terms. “It’s been years,” he said finally. “Years, and I can still barely walk past that theater. And he’s supposed to just go back and live in the place where his family was killed? No. He needs to stay with us, at least for tonight.”

Bruce lapsed into silence as he watched the boy.

“I didn’t know,” Alfred said. “About the theater, I mean.”

“It’s all right, Alfred,” Bruce said in that cool clipped tone that screamed of Bruce trying to push a bubbling darkness to the back of his mind. “Perhaps Detective Gordon or Captain Bullock could help iron out the details.”

“Yeah, I’ll look into it, Master B.”

Bruce nodded and uncrossed his arms, visibly trying to relax his muscles before opening the door just a crack, slipping inside and taking a cross-legged seat on the linoleum floor. The boy looked at him suspiciously. Alfred couldn’t hear Bruce’s words, but he watched him talk. Watched Dick’s clutch on the stuffed bird loosen. Watched him scoot a little closer to the pile of toys. The only thing that broke Alfred’s attention was the sound shoes heading his way.

He turned and gave a nod as Jim Gordon walked up with a file folder in his hand.

“How’s he doing?” Gordon asked.

“Which one?” Alfred said with a bitter laugh.

“Yeah.” Jim looked down at the file in his hands. “I’m sorry Bruce had to be there for that.”

“Appreciate that, mate. Did your lot at least get the bastard?”

“Yes. Yes, we did, and he won’t be bothering anyone for a long time.” Jim stepped closer to the window and peered in. The corner of his mouth ticked up in a slight smile. “Kid’s a natural,” he said, bumping his elbow into Alfred’s arm.

Sure enough, Bruce was in there, pushing a small black car that was more like a rocket across the floor, around obstacles, even up the arms of the chair. Alfred could just barely hear engine sounds bursting from his lips as the little boy laughed and smiled. Tentatively, Dick grabbed a motorcycle and began following Bruce’s trail.

“What’s going on with the boy?” Alfred asked.

“Working on it,” Jim said. “The circus is in the middle of breaking camp -- probably breaking up at this rate -- but we were able to get some contact information on the Graysons. The boy has an aunt and uncle in Metropolis that we’re trying to reach. In the meantime, social workers are trying to round up a foster family with available space, but it’s late and the system’s already pretty backlogged.”

“Too many children, not enough people willing to help,” Alfred said.

“Something like that.”

“You know…” Alfred brought a finger to his lips, tapping them gently as he turned to face Gordon, trying to make this idea seem like his own. “Maybe the boy could stay with us.”

“With you?”

“Not forever, obviously,” Alfred said. “Just until you can reach the aunt and uncle.” Jim looked mildly skeptical. “We’ve got plenty of room, we’re already here and the boys are clearly getting along. Do you want to rip the little one away and take him to stay with whatever stranger you can scrounge up at this hour?”

Gordon peeked into the room again before turning back to Alfred.

“You’re sure about this?”

“I am, yes.”

“And Bruce is okay with it?”

“I’m certain he will be.”

“All right,” Jim said with a nod. “I’ll find the caseworker and see what we can work out.”

“Good man,” Alfred said, reaching out to shake Gordon’s hand before he left down the hall, tossing a puzzled glance over his shoulder as he went.

Alfred turned back to the window. The boys had traded cars and motorcycles for horses and army men, and watching them play, Alfred felt certain about one thing. No matter how long he stayed at Wayne Manor right now, Dick Grayson would be a part of their lives for a long time to come.


End file.
